Felony Ever After

by Helena Hunting

  He nodded. “I—food,” he managed, hitching his thumb over his shoulder.

  She sashayed around the arm of the couch—a move Angie would have been proud of, had she seen it. “Good morning.”

  Up on her toes, she kissed him sweetly on both cheeks and then his lips. Her hand rested on his waist and toyed with the skin there, covered only loosely by his hoodie.

  “Eat?”

  She’d reduced him to caveman. How fabulous.

  “Mmmm,” she murmured. “That looks amazing. What did you make?”

  She peeked over his shoulder to see bowls of fruit and yogurt and orange juice set up.

  He wasn’t listening. She knew this because his eyes were glazed over and still staring at her nipples through his shirt. Mr. Lay did it all the time, and it was creepy. But this was empowering—and new. She’d converted Hudson to his baser form simply by wearing a shirt—plain, white, innocuous. Who needed pricey, fancy lingerie? She was going to Hanes.

  “I always do yoga in the morning before breakfast. Do you mind?” she said, suddenly both bold and a liar. He was rubbing off on her…

  He shook his head.

  Verity sat on the arm of the couch, making sure she was properly covered. Glancing over her shoulder, she fought to keep a straight face. He stared—transfixed and hard. Nothing was a secret in those well-worn jeans.

  Reaching up, she lifted her arms high over her head, flexing and stretching as his shirt rode up to her waist. She heard him swallow. She purred, or at least she tried. She drew on every trick she’d seen Angie pull. Every arch of her back or thrust of her chest was meant to drive him insane.

  And insane he was.

  Hudson practically vibrated, his hands clenched into fists and his chest heaving.

  “It’s this new couch yoga,” Verity ad libbed, enjoying the power she felt surging through her. She linked her arms over her head and slowly leaned back, using every abdominal muscle she could muster to balance until her shoulders were on the couch. Her butt remained on the arm.

  Hudson launched into action. In the amount of time it took her to blink, he moved from behind the couch to loom over her like a menace. “What was your hashtag?” he asked as he pulled off his hoodie.

  She’d been amazed by all of the ink in the darkness last night, but she was struck dumb seeing it in the light of day.

  “Hmm? Cat got your tongue?” With slow precision, Hudson plucked open the buttons on his jeans, laughing when she gasped at his cock springing free. Before his pants fell to the ground, he popped a condom out of his pocket and set it on her stomach.

  It may as well have been made of fire the way it burned her.

  “Was it strike Hudson? No, no,” he teased, easing open her legs as they dangled over the arm of the couch. “Or pummel Hudson? No, no, that’s not it either.” With his thumbs he massaged his way up her thighs. “I wish I could remember.” He tore the condom open and rolled it down his cock, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Verity couldn’t form the words. Pound Hudson danced in her mind. The words bubbled in her throat. They pooled in her mouth but stayed there while he lined himself up to take her.

  He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking. The tip, and that damnable piercing, rubbed against her clit. Slowly, he slid his cock up, made a circle around her nerves, and then down again. A dip, then a repeat. She felt it all. His fingers swooped over the head and stroked downward to his base. Everything brushed against her.

  He grunted, eyes rolling back. He was losing himself in the sensation. “Th-thump?” he offered, shakily.

  Verity shifted her weight, and as her body lifted, he sunk into her. They both sighed, eyes screwed shut, mouths open.

  “Pound,” she finally managed, putting her hands over his at her waist.

  Hudson was like a rubber band pulled too tightly. He snapped, reared back, and thrust.

  She was done for.

  She heard a chuckle, dark and haunting. “Pound Hudson. That’s right.” He drove into her hard, fast, and as unrelenting as his tongue had been last night.

  The threadbare arm of the couch singed her back, her ass, everywhere that made contact as he, quite literally, pounded into her.

  Sweat formed at his brow. His muscles bunched, corded, and rolled with the effort of keeping up the pace. He gripped her ass, fingers digging in.

  Verity wanted more, needed more to lose herself in it all. She reached up, holding her breasts in her palms. The shirt scratched wonderfully against her nipples. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him.

  “Show me,” he pleaded, his tongue reaching out to moisten his lips. “Please.”

  A second of shyness shrouded her before she pushed through and pinched and pulled at her nipples.

  His pace faltered. “Fuck.”

  “More?” She grinned devilishly when he nodded, eyes hooded and trained on her tits.

  She lifted the hem of the shirt to reveal her breasts, one and then the other. “They’re lonely,” Verity said.

  “Ungh.” Hudson surveyed the scene for a moment and said, “Back up. I want them too.”

  “Greedy,” she said, frowning when he slipped from her.

  He kicked off his jeans as she crab-crawled back to lay fully on the cushions. His long, lithe body covered hers, and he kissed her, nipping her bottom lip. He trailed a line of kisses from her lips, down her throat, until he reached her breasts. He pushed them together to run his tongue across the tips, around each breast, and through the valley between them. He left no inch untouched.

  She shivered as the cool air met the wetness from his lips. She was heated and chilled at the same time, and it was glorious.

  His nose ran along her jaw to her ear where he whispered, “Pounding will commence now.”

  She giggled until he grabbed her ankles and sat back on his haunches. He put her feet on his shoulders, moved one of his feet to the floor, and entered her—swift, sure, and strong.

  “Tattoo!” she gasped.

  One hand traced below her breast, drawing an imaginary line. She was lost following the movement, overwhelmed by the sensations. Drunk on Hudson. It sounded like the name of a bar near the river.

  “I can’t hold back,” he urged, slipping his thumb to her clit. He didn’t rub or massage. He just pressed and let the rocking motion of his body do the work.

  The lights got brighter, the air crisper, and her body tighter as the orgasm barreled through her like the subway beneath them.

  He cried out her name, and she knew then and there that no matter what happened, he’d tattooed her that day. It was permanent; she would never be the same. He was getting to her, making her think she could actually do the things she’d dreamed about—be someone bold and free. She’d had him between her legs now, what else could she do?

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics03

  Couch yoga FTW. #HanesProvocateur #Pounded

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics03

  Maybe it’s the cock talking, but I think my common sense got knocked out of place.

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics03

  Or maybe into place? #PoundSense #NewWomanNewPerspective

  Chapter 13

  Dating for Dummies

  Debra Anastasia

  After a few more weeks of research, Verity was able to conclude that she liked sex with Hudson. Okay, she loved sex with Hudson. He knew so much about her vagina that she wondered if he planned to produce the definitive work. And outside the bedroom, they’d developed a pattern. He would wait for her after work on the days he delivered in her part of the city, and she would listen to his stories. He would tell her where he’d been and pass her songs he thought she’d love. Some nights he was busy, and he was vague as to why. But when he was all hers? He was all hers. Their weekends were adventures in Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs. Hudson seemed determined to make her a functioning city girl. They traveled by subway or walked on their own feet most of the time.

  It seemed he knew people everywhere. He was affab
le and friendly, but those they encountered seemed to give him his space after saying hello. Maybe it was Verity’s presence. She had continued to wonder if she wasn’t the only one in his life. His periodic nighttime scarceness was a constant topic for her and Angie, but Verity remained too worried about seeming untrusting to ask him about it.

  However, the weekend of her birthday turned out to be one of those Hudson-scarce times. So she and Angie had met out on Saturday, after Angie ditched Joseph, for a girls’ night.

  “So, I mean, you’ve been with him for a few months now. I think it’s time to claim that salami.” Angie wrinkled her nose. “You could put a nametag through the piercing.”

  Verity shook her head. She had shared the details of Hudson’s special decorations with Angie, but now that her friend brought it up all the time, Verity was kind of wishing she hadn’t.

  “I hate the idea of pushing him into making this more than he’s ready for. I mean, we bag the noodle, if you know what I’m saying.” Verity gave Angie an exaggerated wink.

  “No one calls putting a condom on a penis that,” Angie snorted.

  “Okay, but, like, tonight’s my birthday, right? We have a lot of fun together, but we keep it pretty light. He seems like he wants to get to know me, but he’s so mysterious, I feel weird bringing up stuff about myself. Soooo, I didn’t exactly tell him about today. I put his nuts in my mouth, which means I should’ve been able to do that, but I didn’t. I’m not expecting a hot dog with a candle in it.” Verity scanned the bar as she exhaled her disappointment.

  “How did you celebrate birthdays in Florida? Oh, wait!” Angie gave Verity a low whistle. “Speak of the noodle now…”

  Verity followed her gaze, and saw Hudson smiling his way into the bar.

  “Hey, Honeybee! I heard it’s your birthday. I’m so sorry for not knowing this. You have to tell me!” Hudson pulled a crushed rose out of his hoodie pocket.

  Verity took it and lifted her eyebrow. “This flower looks like it’s been dead three weeks. And I’m very careful about sharing personal information. You know, identity theft is a real concern. Slap a wig on you, and you could be applying to rent a forklift in my name.” Hudson looked mildly confused, but Verity barreled ahead. “Who told you?”

  Angie fake coughed, and Verity gave her a look.

  “What? I’m a great sneaky tweeter. He needed to know.” Angie kept looking at Hudson’s crotch.

  “Can I join ladies’ night? Is that okay?” Hudson pulled up an empty chair.

  “Sure. As long as you can confirm you aren’t porking anyone but my sweet friend here.” Angie squealed as Verity slapped her in the arm.

  Hudson laid on his usual sparkling charm and changed the topic. After a couple more rounds—of both drinks and attempted inquisition from Angie—he ordered an Uber car and insisted on paying for Angie’s ride.

  “I like to make sure all the ladies get home safe.” Hudson held the car’s door for Angie as she got in outside the bar.

  After saying goodbye and silently promising to pinch Angie the next time she saw her, Verity was alone with Hudson.

  “So, do you have any questions?” He wrapped his fingers around her hand and interlaced his colorful knuckles with her plain ones.

  “A few. Maybe. But I’d prefer you tell me what you want to at your own pace.” Verity touched his knuckles and didn’t meet his eyes.

  “You know what? Can we go to my place? I think I can answer a lot of your questions there.” Hudson gave the driver directions after she nodded.

  On the way, Verity felt like her eyelids had a heartbeat, she was suddenly so anxious. Hudson’s mystery had allowed her to invent excuses for him, instead of determining he was thoughtless. Or married. Maybe he was a spy? Their Uber car pulled up in front of a gold-plated building she knew was too expensive for a bike messenger, and yet it stopped. Dear God, did he live with his parents? Hadn’t he said they lived elsewhere? After he paid the driver, Verity gave him a skeptical look.

  “Are we breaking into somewhere else, Tattoo? I swear you’re determined to give me a Felony Ever After.” She hugged herself.

  “What? Instead of a Happily Ever After? Why you got to do me like that, Country Girl?” He pulled her into his arms, sliding his hands under her jacket and into the waistband of her jeans. He lifted his chin as he embraced a fake thug persona that she kind of wished he would pull out in the bedroom.

  “I like to think I do you pretty good,” she countered. “Remember the last time when I hit your nuts with the vibrator as you came?”

  He clamped his hand over her lips and gave her a two-dimple smile. “Yeah. I remember. That was a master-class move, baby. But maybe my doorman doesn’t need to know that about me.” He spoke in a whisper and gave a pointed look to the hip-looking guy who Verity would never have guessed was a doorman.

  But he did indeed hold the door open for them, and he addressed Hudson as Mr. Fenn.

  Hudson produced a card that allowed him access to the elevator, and they stepped inside. She looked at him like he was juggling dragons. “You really live here?”

  “I do. I do.” He hit a button and looked her up and down. “I love elevators.” His tongue peeked out of his mouth, and he bit his bottom lip.

  Verity narrowed her eyes. “Don’t distract me with your sex face. Tell me how you live here? Do you squat with your parents? And was that your hipster doorman?”

  The elevator pinged, and he held the door open for her. “It’s a new model of building management geared to us young folk—the up and comers.”

  He dragged out the word comer, and Verity rolled her eyes. “So you can get a place in this building as a bike messenger?”

  “You have a lot of questions.” He unlocked the door.

  “It’s my birthday. I think answers can be my gift.” Verity followed him into the dark space.

  “I got you a flower.” He slapped on the lights.

  “It was dead.” She was going to joke around more, but lost her train of thought when she saw the inside of the apartment. It was so outside the realm of what she was expecting, she knew her jaw was hanging open. “This is you? Right now? In this life you live here?”

  Verity wanted to look around, but his arms and mouth had better ideas. He lifted her and carried her as she clung to him, kissing with naughty intentions. The next thing she knew, she was in his semi-dark bedroom, and he’d tossed her on the bed.

  His scent, the very Hudson-ness of his clothes, was embedded in the room. He looked bashful, and a bit frantic, as he surveyed the space. He took a minute to gather up the clothes strewn on the floor. It wasn’t a crazy mess, just an indicator of a busy morning, maybe. Verity propped his pillows against his headboard and crossed her legs at the ankle.

  She watched as his confident demeanor took a few minutes off. She liked sheepish Hudson.

  “I’m sorry it’s not neater. You were a surprise tonight. But I didn’t want to miss your birthday after I got that news.” He pulled his leather jacket off and tossed it on the chair in the corner.

  He was wearing a white tank tucked into his jeans, a look she’d never seen him rock before. He noticed her taking inventory, and he pulled off the tank, revealing his abs underneath.

  “I just grabbed my jacket. Didn’t want to wait even a minute to get to you.”

  Verity patted the spot next to her on the bed. “Come here.”

  He gave her a glimpse of the dimples, and she enjoyed how his bare arms looked as he got in position next to her. The muscles rippled, and his collarbone flexed.

  “How much did you drink?” He propped up next to her and held her hand again, lifting it to his lips for a kiss.

  “Not enough. I’m not drunk; I just want more of you.” Verity watched his full lips as he decided to grace each of her knuckles with its very own kiss.

  “You can have all of me, baby.” He switched his attention from her knuckles to her face, but she put up her index finger to halt the kiss he clearly intended.

&n
bsp; “No. I want more of this.” She placed her other hand on his chest. “What’s inside. What makes Hudson a tattooed, bike-riding parkour enthusiast who gives a country girl the time of day?”

  “You’re already in my place. Isn’t that enough?” He tried to kiss her again.

  “Nope. Tell me about you. The tattoos. Why cover yourself in them?” Verity had pulled away a little, but kept her hand in his and her other on his chest.

  “You hatin’ the tats?”

  “You’re defensive tonight. I love the tattoos. I could lick all of them all day and not get bored. The one on your stomach? That’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Just tell me why. I mean, you’ve got ink on your knuckles, neck, and everything in between. That’s a big commitment to make at a pretty young age. And I don’t think you did it to be trendy. They seem like meaningful shit.”

  “Meaningful shit? That poetry should be published. How about I just show you what these pictures look like moving over your goddamn gorgeous body?” He came at her again, his hand finding her breast. “Sometimes at night I picture piercing this.” He found her nipple easily through her thin shirt and lace bra. “And it makes me rock hard.”

  She pushed him away, panting. “Stop distracting me. Tell me about the tattoos.”

  Hudson swore under his breath. He sat next to her and adjusted himself. She almost felt bad for the amount of arousal he was trying to keep in his jeans.

  “You’re in my bed, and this is what you want?” Hudson put his hands behind his head.

  Verity nodded, not trusting herself to use words. She was pretty sure she would chant dick a few hundred times if she opened her mouth anyway.

  “Okay. I got my first tattoo at seventeen. To honor my mom.”

  Hudson hadn’t talked much about his parents, so this was a first, and it sobered her penis-addled brain.

  She left the silence between them as an invitation. He pulled out his phone and flipped through his pictures. He finally passed her the device.

  The woman in the picture smiled beneath a blond beehive. She had the same dimples as Hudson. She was in a wheelchair; her head listed to the side.